Updated Oct 23, 2025 • ~10 min read
LINA’S POV
The morning of the home study, I threw up twice.
“Nerves or morning sickness?” Seb asked, holding my hair back.
“Both. Definitely both.” I rinsed my mouth, staring at my pale reflection. “What if they ask something we haven’t prepared for? What if they search the apartment and find something that proves this started as fraud?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! Old documents? The original agreement? That list you made about me?”
“I burned the agreement weeks ago. And the list is endearing, not incriminating.” He turned me to face him. “Lina, breathe. We’ve got this.”
“Your mother reorganized our entire bathroom last night.”
“I know. I heard her muttering about American toiletries at two AM.”
“She color-coded our towels.”
“She does that. It’s soothing for her.”
I laughed despite myself. “Your family is insane.”
“And yet you married into it.” He kissed my forehead. “Come on. Isabella made breakfast.”
SEB’S POV
The investigator arrived at exactly ten AM.
Sienna Woods was a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a clipboard that might as well have been a weapon. She shook our hands, smiled warmly, and I immediately knew she saw everything.
“Beautiful home,” she said, stepping inside. “How long have you lived here, Mr. Santoro?”
“Three years. Lina moved in after we got married.”
“And before that?”
“I had a one-bedroom in Brooklyn,” Lina said. “This was an upgrade.”
Sienna made notes. “May I look around?”
“Of course,” I said.
We followed her through the apartment like nervous teenagers. She checked the kitchen—noting the double coffee maker, the mixture of cooking supplies, the photos on the fridge that Isabella had insisted we add. She examined the living room, running her fingers along the spines of books on our shelf.
“You both read literary fiction,” she observed.
“Lina got me into it,” I said. “I used to only read technical manuals.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m halfway through a novel about a woman who runs away to Paris. Lina’s forcing me to have culture.”
Lina elbowed me. “I’m not forcing anything.”
“You hid my laptop and replaced it with a book.”
“That was one time!”
Sienna smiled, making more notes. “And the bedroom?”
My mother appeared from the kitchen. “Can I offer you coffee, Ms. Woods? Or tea?”
“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.” Sienna looked at my mother with interest. “And you are?”
“Isabella Santoro. Sebastian’s mother. I’m visiting from Italy.”
“How nice. How long are you staying?”
“A few weeks. I wanted to meet my daughter-in-law properly.” Mama smiled at Lina. “And to help prepare for the baby, of course.”
“Of course.” Sienna turned back to us. “The bedroom?”
We led her down the hall. I felt Lina’s hand trembling in mine.
The bedroom looked lived-in. Lina’s clothes mixed with mine in the closet. Her lotions and creams on the dresser next to my watch and wallet. The bed we’d made together this morning, both sides clearly slept in.
Sienna examined everything with professional thoroughness.
“You share the bed,” she said. Not a question.
“Yes,” Lina answered.
“And the closet.”
“Yes.”
“I notice the guest room is set up for visitors. Was that always a guest room?”
Here it was. The moment of truth.
“No,” I said carefully. “When Lina first moved in, she used it. We thought we’d take things slow, share space gradually. But…” I looked at Lina. “We didn’t last long with that plan.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks,” Lina said. “I kept finding excuses to be in here. And then one night I just… stayed.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The timeline was compressed, but the sentiment was true.
Sienna made more notes. “Ms. Moreno—or should I say Mrs. Santoro?—you’re pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Santoro is not the biological father.”
“No. But he’s going to be this baby’s father in every way that matters.” Lina’s voice was steady now. “The biological father and I have worked out a co-parenting arrangement. But Seb is my husband. My partner. The person I’m building a life with.”
“That’s very modern.”
“That’s our reality.” I pulled Lina closer. “I love my wife. I love this baby. Biology doesn’t change that.”
Sienna studied us for a long moment. Then she smiled—really smiled, not the professional version.
“I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years,” she said. “You learn to spot the fakes pretty quickly. The couples who can’t quite get their story straight. Who stand too far apart. Who don’t know small details about each other’s lives.”
My heart hammered.
“You two?” she continued. “You finish each other’s sentences. You touch each other without thinking about it. There’s a half-empty water glass on his nightstand and prenatal vitamins on hers. Your book is on her side of the bed. Her sweater is draped over his chair.” She closed her notebook. “Whatever your marriage started as, it’s real now. Anyone can see that.”
I felt Lina sag with relief.
“Does that mean…?” she started.
“It means I’ll be recommending the court accept your marriage as legitimate. You have a stable home, clear support systems, and genuine affection for each other. That’s all we’re looking for.”
LINA’S POV
After Sienna left, I burst into tears.
“Hey, hey,” Seb pulled me into his arms. “That was good news. Why are you crying?”
“Because I was so scared and she was so nice and your mom color-coded our towels and I just love you so much it hurts.”
He laughed, kissing my tears. “I love you too. Even when you’re a hormonal mess.”
“I’m not a mess, I’m pregnant.”
“Same thing.”
Isabella appeared with tissues. “She’s right to cry. That woman was terrifying with her kindness.”
“Mama, you literally interrogated Lina for two hours yesterday.”
“That’s different. I’m family. I’m allowed to be terrifying.” She handed me the tissues. “But she’s gone now. And we passed. So tonight, we celebrate.”
“Celebrate how?” I asked.
“I’m making my famous osso buco. Sebastian’s favorite since he was a boy.” She headed back to the kitchen. “And Lina, you’ll help me. It’s time you learned proper Italian cooking.”
I looked at Seb in panic. “I can barely make grilled cheese.”
“She knows. She’s doing this on purpose.” He kissed my nose. “But you’ll be fine. Just nod and say ‘yes, Mama’ a lot.”
SEB’S POV
Watching my mother teach Lina to cook was something I hadn’t known I needed.
Mama was patient in a way she’d never been with Declan or me, showing Lina how to brown the meat, how to season properly, explaining each step in her accented English mixed with Italian food terms.
Lina was focused, asking questions, laughing when she messed up the soffritto.
“No, no, cara,” Mama said, taking the knife gently from her. “Like this. Small pieces. Uniform.”
“I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re learning. That’s different.” Mama guided Lina’s hands. “Cooking is like marriage. Sometimes messy. Sometimes you burn things. But with practice and patience, it becomes beautiful.”
“Is that what happened with you and Seb’s dad?”
Mama paused, her expression softening. “We burned many things in the beginning. But yes. Eventually it became beautiful.”
“How long were you married?”
“Thirty-eight years. Until he passed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had thirty-eight years with the love of my life. Some people never get that.” She looked at Lina carefully. “You love my son.”
“I do.”
“And the baby? You’re afraid.”
Lina’s hands stilled on the vegetables. “Terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of being a bad mother. Of not being enough. Of Seb realizing this is too much and—”
“And leaving?” Mama shook her head. “Sebastiano is many things. Stubborn. Too serious. Terrible at expressing feelings. But he doesn’t leave. When he commits, it’s forever.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he’s like his father. And his father never left. Not even when things were hard. Especially not then.” She returned to the osso buco. “You’re good for him, you know. I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”
“Really?”
“Really. He smiles now. Laughs. Comes home at reasonable hours instead of working until midnight.” Mama glanced at me—I’d been lurking in the doorway, eavesdropping shamelessly. “He’s become human again.”
“I heard that, Mama,” I said, entering the kitchen.
“Good. You were meant to.” She shooed me toward Lina. “Now make yourself useful. Set the table. With the good china.”
“We’re using the good china?”
“We’re celebrating. Your wife passed the home study. Your baby is safe. We use the good china.”
Your baby. Not Lina’s baby. Not the baby. Your baby.
Lina caught my eye, tears threatening again.
“Hormones,” she mouthed.
I kissed her temple. “I know.”
LINA’S POV
Dinner was perfect.
The osso buco was rich and tender, the risotto creamy, the wine—sparkling cider for me—cold and crisp. Isabella told stories about Seb as a child, embarrassing him thoroughly while I laughed until my sides hurt.
“And then,” Isabella said, “he decided he would only speak in Italian for an entire month. To preserve his heritage, he said. He was seven.”
“That’s very dedicated,” I managed through giggles.
“It was insufferable. Especially since his Italian was terrible. He kept mixing dialects.” She smiled at Seb. “But he was determined. Like with everything else.”
“I’m still determined,” Seb said. “Just more selective about what I’m determined about.”
“Yes. Now you’re determined to be a good husband. A good father.” Isabella raised her glass. “To new beginnings. And to family, however we find it.”
We toasted, and I felt something settle in my chest. This was my family now. These people. This life.
“Mama,” Seb said quietly, “thank you. For coming. For staying. For accepting this.”
“What choice did I have? You’re my son. She’s your wife. This is my grandchild.” Isabella waved a hand. “Besides, I like Lina. She’s good people, as you Americans say.”
“The highest compliment,” I said.
“Don’t let it go to your head. I also think you need better shoes and you season things too timidly.” She stood, collecting plates. “But these things can be fixed. Love is harder to find.”
After dinner, Isabella retired to the guest room—”You young people need privacy, and I need my beauty sleep”—leaving Seb and me alone.
We stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the city lights.
“We did it,” I said softly.
“We did.”
“Sienna believed us. Your mom likes me. The baby is safe.”
“Everything we wanted.”
I turned to face him. “When this started, I thought I’d do my six months, get my money, and go back to my normal life.”
“And now?”
“Now I can’t imagine a life without you in it.” I took his hand, placed it on my stomach. “Without this. Without us.”
He leaned down, kissed me slowly. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”
“For how long?”
“Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“That’s a long time, Santoro.”
“Not nearly long enough.”
We went to bed early, exhausted from the stress of the day. But as I lay in Seb’s arms, listening to his heartbeat, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months.
Peace.
We’d cleared the first hurdle. The home study was done. The marriage was legitimate in the eyes of the law.
Now we just had to make it through everything else.
But as Seb’s hand found mine in the darkness, our fingers intertwining like they always did now, I thought maybe—just maybe—we actually could.
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